The Purrfect Crime
by La Luna Unita
Summary: All kinds of cats in Gotham are disappearing! When several expensive animals are stolen, Batman's top suspect is Catwoman. But is there more to these thefts than meets the eye?
1. Chapter 1

~Notes~

This story is based on a 1991 children's book of the same name by Andrew Helfer. When I heard about it, I thought it was such a great (and cute) plot that I wanted to try writing my own version!

Major plot points and storyline are all credited to Andrew Helfer. New story text and new subplots are by me. Copies of the original book are available and the ISBN to find the book is 0307126218.

* * *

Forty squirming, squealing kids threw popcorn and chattered at each other in the rows below Bruce Wayne at Gotham City's Circus Charity Night. Charity Night at the Circus had become a tradition in the Wayne household over the last few years. Shortly after adopting Dick Grayson, the young man had requested these circus outings for the children at his old orphanage. Bruce had readily agreed.

He always turned it into an event—playing at an exclusive park, followed by dinner, then the show under the Big Top. Curiously, Dick never attended. Bruce didn't press him. He knew all too well the pain childhood memories could bring.

Bruce and his date sat wisely out of range of the concessions-turned-missiles. She turned to him, the elegance of her black velvet dress belying her giddy excitement.

"What's your favorite part of the circus?" Tatiana asked him, tossing her lustrous dark hair over one shoulder.

"The big cats," Bruce replied. "They're so gorgeous and powerful."

"Oooh, must be something of a kinship, I suppose," she teased, batting her eyes flirtatiously.

Bruce tried not to roll his as he focused his attention back on the three rings below. Tatiana was an extraordinary beauty, just the kind of woman Bruce Wayne _should_ be seen with around Gotham. Unfortunately, she was also an utter bore.

Music swelled and the children quieted as a spotlight focused on the Ringmaster in the center of the tent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is our privilege to bring some of the finest creatures in nature to you. Watch carefully, and don't be fooled! Our trainer would have you believe these lions and tigers are tame as house cats, but they are not to be trusted! Remark the ferocious gleam of their fangs and the sharpness of their claws. Please do not tempt their murderous appetites with a stray finger or hand! And now… on with the show!"

The crowd jumped to their feet to get a closer look at the cats, applauding the Ringmaster's speech. All eyes were on the thick red curtains that led backstage, but minutes went by and no cats of any kind paraded forth. The pregnant silence was interrupted by shouts behind the curtains.

Bruce casually pressed a button on the side of his cell phone and it rapped forth an irritating, high-powered ringtone. He gave an exaggerated sigh for Tatiana's benefit.

"Hang on, it's the Board. I'll be back in a minute. Hello…?" he said, affecting frustration as he pressed the phone to his ear.

Bruce stepped into the aisle, pretending to converse as he quickly made his way out of the stands. He stuck to the shadows, slipping around to the back of the big top. Outside the main tent, dancers, acrobats, and clowns walked to and fro, prepping for their acts or chatting with each other.

The argument had crescendoed; Bruce could hear the Ringmaster desperately shushing whomever was shouting. Bruce hid himself in the darkness between two tall wooden crates. He discovered he was fortuitously close to a seam in the main tent's canvas. He put his eye to the opening and caught a glimpse of Commissioner Gordon's familiar face. Commissioner Gordon stood straight as an arrow and looked down his nose at a rather unkempt man in suspenders and a stained undershirt.

"We'll find your cats," the Commissioner assured him. "There aren't that many places in Gotham to hide lions and tigers. Or that many places to sell them. My men are on it already."

"They better be! Those animals are expensive. If my cats aren't back by tomorrow, I could lose my job!" the unpleasant man screeched.

The Ringmaster put a placating hand on the man's arm, but he shrugged it off. Bruce watched as the Commissioner cast an observant eye over his surroundings.

"Now, just to be sure I have everything down correctly, these are the cages for the big cats?"

He indicated four or five surprisingly small wheeled trailers arranged in a semicircle. They looked like old fashioned animal cracker boxes, although they did have the addition of thick rolled draperies that could be let down over the iron bars to fully enclose their tiny spaces. Bruce could see, and even smell, that they hadn't been cleaned in a while.

"Yes, yes," the trainer replied impatiently.

"And you did not take them out prior to their performance?" The Commissioner frowned under his moustache as he looked at his notepad.

"No! I already told you that!"

"And you do not have any kind of yard or pen for them to stay in—other than the cages?"

The man didn't notice the steely glint in Commissioner Gordon's eye as he shook his head. "They stay in the cages if we aren't training or performing. Seriously, are you even taking notes?"

"I have to ask to be sure, Sir. Police procedure."

Bruce grinned as the Commissioner turned away from the man and focused on the Ringmaster, completely dismissing the trainer from the rest of the conversation. The man's mouth opened and closed a few times and his eyes bulged. But the Commissioner resolutely refused to meet his eye. With an exasperated sigh and a few muttered curses, the trainer walked away to go scold his assistants at the cages.

"As I said," Commissioner Gordon continued, still standing tall in his most imposing posture, "I already have people looking into all possible locations that can hold big cats. We're checking all cargo transports out of the city and taking every precaution to find your animals. In the meantime, detectives will be interviewing your employees—to see if anyone saw anything."

Bruce heard the unspoken notion that the detectives would also be interviewing the employees as potential suspects. The Ringmaster picked up on it too, but nodded frantically.

"Whatever it takes to get George his cats back. He's difficult at the best of times, but he knows how to train the big cats. We simply don't have a show without them!"

As the Commissioner made his exit, Bruce leaned back from the circus tent canvas. George might be good at training, but it seemed that he and his staff were terrible at caring for their precious animals. Dirty cages and no room to run or play? He'd had no idea the Gotham City Circus kept their animals in such squalid conditions. Maybe there was a way to put in an anonymous tip… but there was no guarantee an honest city worker would look into the case. Issuing citations wasn't likely to fix the problem. There had to be a solution, though. He'd think on it.

Later that evening, Bruce cruised the streets of Gotham after dropping off Tatiana at her penthouse. _The woman is part octopus,_ he thought sourly as he recalled his struggle to extricate himself from her amorous embrace at her door. He'd pleaded an emergency board meeting and made tracks, leaving her beautiful pouting lips and sultry eyes behind.

Bruce stopped at a familiar intersection to wait out the red light. He looked up at the building on his left and noticed Commissioner Gordon's light still on in his office.

Five minutes later, the Batman tapped softly at the Commissioner's window. The silver-haired man looked up, startled, then smiled. He slid open the window and moved aside to allow Batman to descend on silent feet. The line of his grappling hook whizzed quietly as it retracted into his utility belt.

"You're up late, Commissioner. Everything okay?" Batman asked as the two shook hands.

Gordon ran a hand through his wavy hair, sighing. "Just working on a weird one, Batman. Cats. Missing cats. With all the missing people in this town, you'd think that would take priority, but here I am, trying to track down animals like a dog catcher. Or a cat catcher, as the case may be."

"I heard about the no-shows at the Circus. Are you saying there are more missing?"

Commissioner Gordon laughed without humor. "That's exactly what I'm saying. A lot more, in fact. We've gone past 'hundreds' and are closing in on a thousand or more. I don't know if we're looking at some kind of predator or—"

"Are there signs of predation? Claw marks or other clues of struggle? Any blood, bones?"

The Commissioner shook his head. "No, thank heavens. God knows I've got my cat Ruffy secured at home, though. I was letting him out to roam every once in a while, but now I keep him indoors. I'm a little spooked about him getting grabbed."

Batman nodded, thinking. "That's a good idea, Jim. If you aren't seeing any signs of violence, it seems more likely this is theft."

"That's where I was leaning too, Batman. I just got a call from the Southminster Cat show; one of the show cats has been taken. The night watchman didn't see a thing. I'm going to follow up in the morning and talk to the owner. You want to join me?"

"I'll bring the coffee, Jim. See you there." With that, Batman stepped onto the ledge of the open window and disappeared into the night.

Commissioner Gordon couldn't help it; he leaned out to see which way Batman had gone. But just like every other time, he never caught a glimpse of the Batman after his dramatic exit. He sighed. There was nothing more he could do for the case tonight. He closed the window, packed up his briefcase, and headed home, where he hoped Ruffy would still be waiting.

Dick was laid out on a comfortable Italian leather couch, flipping idly through a magazine when Bruce came through the den.

"And how was the lovely Ms. Aurbach?" he asked, lifting his eyes only marginally from the page.

"Grabby," Bruce replied.

He loosened his tie and removed his cufflinks, dropping them into the pocket of his slacks. Alfred never failed to check his pockets before washing.

Dick closed the magazine and leapt to vertical, an effortless motion his acrobatic background afforded him. "Oh, really? That doesn't usually vex you."

"Who says I'm vexed?" Bruce retorted, just as Alfred entered with a tray.

The nascent argument was forestalled by a late night snack the butler had prepared. The trio settled in around a deeply stained and well-polished coffee table. Alfred poured tea from a silver service and passed the cups around.

"I trust Ms. Tatiana is well," the butler began, "and that the Circus was a delight."

"Actually, Alfred, someone stole the lions and tigers. But yes, the rest of the night was fine."

Dick nearly spat out his tea and eyed Bruce incredulously. "The lions and tigers? Seriously? That's kind of... specific. And heavy. It would be heavy."

Bruce sipped his tea with perfect form, ignoring Alfred's approving glance at his lack of slurp. "That's not all. Tomorrow I'm meeting Jim Gordon to interview the owner of a missing show cat at the Southminster Cat Show."

"Stolen as well?" Dick raised an eyebrow.

"I hate to make assumptions…"

"I know you do. I'll wait for your conclusions upon examination of the evidence," Dick replied, rolling his eyes. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Just be on call. You have anything else going on this week?"

Dick shrugged. "It's summer break, Bruce. Other than a couple hot dates, I'm free."

"Not too hot, I hope."

"Alfred's run background checks on them already. Well-bred young ladies from Gotham Academy, not a rebel among them. I'm just trying to be a normal teenager, Bruce. Promise."

Bruce popped a water cracker topped with gruyere cheese into his mouth and leaned back, chewing. He swallowed. "I know, Dick. I'm glad. It's not always easy with me, I'm aware."

Dick grinned. "Easy is boring, anyway. I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks," Bruce replied.

He stifled the urge to ruffle his ward's hair. Dick wasn't a child anymore; he was a young man of sixteen. He was often impulsive, but he had matured greatly over the six years he'd been Bruce's ward, both as Dick Grayson and as Robin. Bruce was grateful for their friendship and partnership, though he couldn't deny Dick kept him on his toes. Thank goodness for Alfred's impeccable timing and mitigating influence.

"Well," said the butler, breaking the silence as he gathered the tea service and stood, "I'm off to bed. And you should consider the same, Master Bruce. You have an early morning in the office—"

"And an even earlier meeting with Jim Gordon," Bruce finished, standing and dusting off his knees. "Thanks, Alfred. Good night."

"Good night, you two." Dick settled back onto the couch with his magazine as the older men left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

At 5:58 a.m. the next morning, Batman stood outside the grand auditorium that hosted the Southminster Cat Show, two cups of steaming coffee in hand. It felt a little odd to stand around holding coffee in broad daylight, but even in summer most of Gotham wasn't awake and on the streets yet. Batman locked his jaw against a yawn. An unmarked sedan pulled up in front of the doors, its quiet engine purring for a moment before it shut off. Commissioner Gordon exited the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, knuckling some sleep out of one eye as he did so.

"Morning, Batman," he said, gratefully accepting the proffered cup of coffee.

He didn't blink as he raised it to his lips and found it creamed and sugared exactly to his liking. Of course Batman knew how he took his coffee. Sometimes the Commissioner marveled at the world he lived in, but it was too early for such existential musing today.

"Good morning, Jim. I trust you slept well—and that Ruffy was around to keep you company?" Batman waited politely as an officer in uniform unlocked the exterior door and held it open for the pair of them.

"He sure was. No worries. Hey, Carl," the Commissioner greeted the flat foot.

"Hey, Boss. Nothing unusual after they reported the missing cat last night. The place has been quiet. Well, except for her," Carl said the last under his breath, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at a frumpy looking woman.

"Is that Mrs. Golightley?" the Commissioner asked.

Carl nodded, his lips pressed hard together.

"Say no more." The Commissioner straightened his tie and re-tucked his shirt into his slacks. "Okay, let's go."

They approached the irate woman, who advanced menacingly as soon as she caught sight of the Commissioner. She wore a pink cashmere sweater over a pink, plaid pencil skirt cut below the knee. The color of the rich fabrics clashed with her expensive, red woolen jacket.

"Finally. Finally! I've been here since four in the morning!" she fumed, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Hello, Mrs. Golightley, I'm—"

"I know who _you_ are, Commissioner. I see you in the papers often enough. What's _he_ doing here?" She turned her gimlet eye on Batman, a sneer curling her upper lip.

Unperturbed, Batman replied, "Police consultant. I'm here by request."

"Ridiculous costume. You can't expect anyone to take you seriously," she shot back.

Batman swallowed a response Robin would have been proud of. He turned to inspect the premises, listening as the Commissioner began his interview. They stood in a generous foyer. Soft morning sun filtered through skylights overhead. Batman scrutinized them carefully, but they didn't appear to have been tampered with.

With a thousand missing cats—and a single cat-themed thief in Gotham—Batman had a short list of suspects. But it wouldn't do to draw a conclusion without evidence. Catwoman had more than one _modus operandi_ for breaking and entering. He'd check the door locks next.

He followed Mrs. Golightley and the Commissioner as they made their way into the main auditorium. It was decorated in stately tones, the impression of class and poise unmistakable. Even the cat agility course projected an air of seriousness. A few owners were already running their felines over the course, or placing them onto inspection podiums to practice judging procedures. Most of the animals were far more demure than the cats Batman usually encountered. Not a single hiss or spit could be heard as the animals were carefully handled and moved around.

Mrs. Golightley strode through the center of the auditorium, her pace hurried as they neared a door in the back wall.

"This is where the cats stay overnight. We're not allowed to take them home once they are registered in the competition," she said, opening the door and ushering them through.

The back room adjacent to the auditorium was spacious enough for a hundred or more cats. Heavy metal shelves were affixed to three of the walls and crates of all sizes rested upon the shelving. Each owner brought their own crate for their cat, Batman realized. Most were large enough to fit two cats comfortably and were kept neat, toys, blankets, and food dishes arranged within. Mrs. Golightley, however, led them to the smallest crate in the entire room—barely big enough for a _kitten_ to stretch out. Batman fingered a lock on one of the closed cages.

"Do the owners receive a key for their cat?" he asked Mrs. Golightley.

She nodded.

"I have a key to this crate and one of the judges is entrusted with the other. No one else should be able to let my kitten out. I think the judge is dirty. There's no other explanation," she said in a loud stage whisper.

"Now, now, let's not go accusing without proof," said the Commissioner, raising two hands in defense.

Batman knelt before the tiny crate and looked at the bottom of the lock. He grabbed a mini-LED flashlight from his belt and shone its intense beam over the keyhole. The other two watched with interest, Mrs. Golightley forgetting her ire for a moment.

"It's been picked," Batman announced, pointing at the keyhole. "See the scrapes against the keyhole opening? A normal key will certainly scratch, as the user misses and finds the fit, but a lockpick kit leaves finer, fresher grooves. Commissioner, I do believe this evidence points to the cat being stolen."

"I knew it!" Mrs. Golightley roared. "Commissioner, I want my kitten back immediately! It's a very rare breed, practically priceless! Its value will only increase when I win Grand Prize tomorrow. I want it back, and I want it in perfect condition."

She poked her nose right into the Commissioner's face and stabbed one long, bony finger at his tie. She was tall enough that the Commissioner was unable to loom over her, but he tried anyway.

"Mrs. Golightley, I have my best detectives on the case. You'll hear from us the moment we have news of your kitten's whereabouts," he said, clipping the words off succinctly,

"I'd better. I'll take this all the way to City Hall if I have to," Mrs. Golightley seethed.

Batman melted into the shadows as the Commissioner opened his mouth to fire back. The two traded comments, unaware of his stealthy retreat. Batman ran his flashlight over the rest of the space as he walked the length of the shelves. He checked out every crevice and nook, seeking a way into the room. He'd noticed the single door into the room was in perfect working order, so the thief hadn't entered that way - no evidence of lock picking. He wondered about that. If the thief had a perfectly good lockpicking kit, why not just use it to facilitate the whole crime?

A throat cleared quietly behind him. Batman paused in his ruminations and turned to find an elderly security guard eyeing him nervously.

"Yes?" Batman rumbled.

"Can I uh, can I talk to you?" the man asked.

He held his cap in both hands and twisted the brim. Batman watched him shuffle his feet and took in the sight of his bowed posture and rumpled uniform. Batman nodded, indicating a quiet corner of the room. The guard followed him.

"What's on your mind?" asked Batman.

"I uh, I need to share some information. Off the record, if you know what I mean? The police already interviewed me," the security guard stammered.

"Okay, Bill," said Batman, reading the man's name tag. "I take it you were on duty last night?"

"That's right," Bill confirmed. "And I didn't see anything. I don't know how that tiny cage was opened, unless someone got a copy of the key or something."

"It was picked," Batman supplied. "Were you in this room guarding the cats?"

Bill leaned close to whisper. "To be honest, I was asleep! Please don't tell the cat show, I'll be fired!"

He rubbed his neck in embarrassment, straightened out his cap, and settled it back on his head. His gray mustache twitched and he ran both hands over his five o'clock shadow.

"I really need this job. It's hard to keep awake all night, though. I have to take my daughter to school in the mornings, and-"

"-and we're going to keep this confidential, off the record," Batman cut in.

Relief overtook the man's features and he sagged against the wall. "Thank you, Batman. I want that sweet little kitten found, but I'm not willing to get fired for the harpie over there."

"You say it's a kitten? Can you give a description?" Batman asked.

"Sure can. I've made friends with a fair amount of these cats in the last week. I suppose they're all valuable, but in my opinion that little kitty is worth more for her disposition. She's got a tawny coat and big, sad green eyes. I imagine you're not much of a cat person, but I am, and that little critter just wants a home where it is loved. I always take time to pet it every night. Since we're off the record, I can be perfectly honest and say I'm truly glad the kitten is out of that crate. Have you heard the term failure to thrive?"

Batman nodded, not liking where the man's information was going.

"I know it's not usually used for a scenario like this, but Mrs. Golightley's cat was looking thinner and less healthy to me. She'd stop in every six hours or so during the day—we keep a log, so I checked—but she would just run it through the course and drop in some food and water. Other than myself and the other guards, no one gave the kitten any love or attention. I'd personally use the term neglect, but I'm not saying anything illegal happened here. Except the theft, you understand?" His confidence back, Bill's tone turned stern.

"I understand," Batman replied, glancing over his shoulder to where the Commissioner and Mrs. Golightley were still arguing.

The rustle of a cleaning cart interrupted the pair as a woman from janitorial entered the room.

"Excuse me," she said, touching the brim of her cap as she hefted a mop out of her mop bucket and started on the opposite end of the room.

A flash of metal between Bill's feet caught Batman's eye. He motioned for the security guard to step aside and knelt down.

"Now, this is interesting," he said, holding up a small metal screw for Bill to see.

A moment of hunting with his flashlight revealed three more. Bill had been standing in front of the air return grate. A quick inspection revealed it was missing the four screws to secure it in place.

"Commissioner, I think we've found the method of entry," Batman called.

The Commissioner and Mrs. Golightley crossed quickly, the woman slipping on wet tile as she passed. She clutched Commissioner Gordon's arm to regain her balance.

"Put a sign up!" Mrs. Golightley snapped at the janitor.

The janitor tossed her long ponytail back and immediately complied, popping open a yellow, A-shaped CAUTION sign and standing it on the wet floor. She dipped her head even lower and went back to mopping.

"Commissioner Gordon, Bill and I discovered the screws to the air return were removed. I think our thief came in during the day, removed the screws, then used the ducts to enter and exit last night after the room was locked. Ah, Bill?"

Batman turned to the man, who was nearly quaking in his shoes.

"Bill, did you leave this room last night for any reason? Perhaps to use the facilities?"

Bill cleared his throat and straightened up. "Yes, that's right Batman, I did. Only once, and I locked the door behind me."

Batman gave a small smile and snapped his fingers. "That's when the thief entered. Entrance and escape were already taken care of, so the thief only had to wait for the perfect moment to slip in and pick the lock!"

Bill nodded his head in quick motions of agreement, his hands clutched tightly together. Batman knew it was more likely the thief had waited to hear Bill's snores before making his move, but it was all the same. Picking a tiny, uncomplicated lock like the ones on these crates would have taken no time at all.

Commissioner Gordon smiled. "I'll radio forensics to come in at once. Maybe the thief was careless enough to leave a fingerprint behind. In the meantime, Mrs. Golightley, I suggest you go home and try to relax."

Without warning, Commissioner Gordon went from tough and incisive to charming and concerned. The combination was too much for Mrs. Golightley, who softened a bit as he steered her toward the door.

"Well, alright, but you're sure you've got _all_ your men searching for my little Whiskersoft?" She peered at him over her shoulder, brows drawn together.

"Yes, Ma'am. _All_ my men. On the case. For your cat." The irony was lost on Mrs. Golightley.

She gave them one last look and clicked away in her black heels, heading for the front of the building. The tension in the room deflated. Bill looked back and forth between the Commissioner and Batman, suddenly aware he was no longer needed.

"Well, then, I'll take myself off too, unless you have any more questions?" He took a half-step toward the door.

The Commissioner opened his mouth, but Batman shook his head.

"He's fine, Jim. He already gave a statement."

Commissioner Gordon nodded. A wet slap behind them reminded the men that the janitor was still completing her rounds in the room.

"Let's go where we can talk privately, Batman," suggested the Commissioner.

They went back into the auditorium, where they could speak under cover of the scattered conversations of various cat owners around the room.

"Mrs. Golightley doesn't care one whit about that cat, so long as it brings her money or prestige," the Commissioner stated in disgust.

"Bill would agree with you. He thought the animal was getting depressed from lack of attention," Batman murmured, his voice pitched below the bustling sounds around them.

"The trainer at the circus talked about how expensive his animals are, too. I suppose it's a concern when we're dealing with theft, but these are living things." Commissioner Gordon sighed and shook his head.

"Jim, what with the monetary value of these cats and the cat-burglar techniques used to procure them, I think we have to name Catwoman as the main suspect. She has the skills necessary to do both jobs. She's also got a nose for valuables. Stealing living animals seems a bit afield of her usual prey..."

The Commissioner pursed his lips. "Diamonds and jewelry, you mean? Yes, it does. But we've seen Gotham's criminals escalate and take new directions before. All right, I'll put out an APB on her."

The Commissioner unsnapped the radio on his belt, but Batman placed a hand on his arm.

"Before you do that, do you mind if I try talking to her? She's a criminal, but she's generally non-violent. She's helped me in the past when there was no other option. And she genuinely likes cats. I want to hear what she has to say for herself."

"I can give you twenty-four hours, Batman," the Commissioner agreed. "After that, if there are no other suspects, we really must move. Unpleasant owners aside, I have a duty to the law here."

Batman nodded. "Understood, Jim. Thanks for letting me tag along this morning."

Batman crushed his empty coffee cup and tossed it into a trash can next to the front door. He stepped out, ignoring the gasps of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Once he was clear of the building, he fired his grappling hook high overhead and swung away without a backward glance.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce straightened the sleeves of his jacket and smoothed his hair back as he crossed the top floor of Wayne Industries with long strides. It was 8:06 a.m. according to the clock on the wall above a sea of cubicles. He smiled at various clerks that looked up as he sailed by. One man, however, stood at the back wall coffee bar with a frown on his face.

"Late again, Bruce. The Board has been waiting for…" he glanced at the clock, "...seven minutes. Can't you save your escapades for the weekend? You've still got lipstick on your collar." The frown deepened, stopping just short of a grimace.

Bruce silently blessed Alfred for remembering the little details.

"Oops, good thing I've got a fresh shirt in my office. Tell the Board they need to wait three minutes more?" he asked, faking a sheepish look.

The man sighed gustily as he stirred his coffee and shook his head.

Bruce put on the boyish grin that had launched a thousand fansites. "Aw, cut me a little slack, Philmore? It's only ten minutes of their time. And besides, it _was_ all for charity."

Philmore grumbled as he stalked away toward the board room. Bruce chuckled. He entered his office, waving at his secretary before closeting himself behind a heavily ornate wooden door. He nabbed a fresh shirt off of a rack in one corner of the enormous space and quickly switched out. A polite knock sounded as he resecured his power tie in front of a mirror on the back of the door.

"Enter!" he called, stepping back.

Debra, his secretary, sashayed in holding a clipboard. She clicked her tongue at him. "You sure put Phil in a tizzy this morning. Have mercy on the poor man," she admonished. "Here's your schedule and the materials for the meeting. This one's gonna be a bloodbath, sorry to say. You shouldn't have kept them waiting."

"I can handle the board, Debra. What's on my schedule for tonight?" Bruce asked.

His mind raced ahead to the hours after sunset. He wondered where he should start the search for Catwoman.

"Charity ball for a cat conservation group," Debra reported, cutting into his thoughts.

Bruce groaned. "Can I cancel?"

"I suppose. Selina Kyle's on the board—"

"Selina will be there?" Bruce's ears perked up as he finished tucking in his shirt and took the clipboard from Debra.

Debra didn't meet his eyes, but a knowing smile brought out her dimple. Bruce realized she'd mentioned that fact on purpose. He sighed, but with good humor.

"I'll go. It's fine. Can you call Alfred—"

"And make sure your tux is ready? Already done. What would you do without me, Mr. Wayne?" Debra chuckled at his expression.

"Suffer. Greatly."

Bruce flashed Debra one last winning smile and stepped jauntily to the board room, armed with the materials she'd prepared.

Later that day, Bruce was alone in his office, the door partially shut against the bustle of the top floor. His lunch—a high quality sushi tray prepared by his favorite chef—sat untouched as he stared off into space. The board meeting had been… not good. Several of their products were in a sales slump no one could explain, and one particular land development project had everyone out of sorts. He wanted to be excited about the prospect of seeing Selina later, but work had him in a serious funk.

A surreptitious tap on the doorjamb pulled Bruce from his thoughts. He looked up to see Chuck Howson, his number one accountant, peep around the door.

"Hey, Mr. Wayne, is this a good time?" Howson's round face was more serious than usual as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

"It's fine," Bruce replied, waving him in.

"So, I tracked down those figures you wanted," Howson began.

He placed a manila file folder on the edge of Bruce's desk, carefully avoiding the sushi as he flipped it open. Bruce could feel his eyes glaze over when he saw the colored pie charts and various graphs of Howson's collected printouts.

"Let's cut to the chase. Howson, what kind of money are we talking here?" Bruce put his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers under his chin.

Howson pushed his glasses up with one long finger. "Well, Mr. Wayne, the cost of re-zoning, all the permits—and frankly, the bribes to various Gotham City officials...it's in the neighborhood of—"

The figure he named set Bruce's ears back. No wonder the board had been calling him all week. Even the deep pockets of Wayne Industries couldn't handle the cost of the multi-use development he'd dreamed up. He'd envisioned it with Wayne employees in mind, but that small detail didn't matter. For the amount Howson calculated, it would be cheaper to put his employees up in nice hotels for a couple of years.

Bruce sighed, irritated. "This is my land, isn't it? How can they charge me so much to develop my own land?"

Howson shrugged. "Realities of living in a big city, Sir. Take it up with City Council."

"Don't tempt me. That'll be all, Howson. Thanks." Bruce stood and shook out his broad shoulders.

Howson gave a mock salute, turned on a heel, and exited the lavish office. The door closed softly behind him. Bruce rubbed his eyes and sighed again. After a frustrated circuit of the room and a few minutes spent staring out the window, he returned to work. He reviewed reports for a few more hours, annotating them or calling Debra on the comm to ask for follow-ups on one thing or another. Finally, the grandfather clock against the wall chimed five. Bruce stood and pulled on his suit jacket, eager to get out of Wayne Industries for the day.

He'd have to pull a Cinderella at the charity ball this evening. As much fun as one more overcrowded, champagne-soaked benefit would be, Batman had to find Catwoman before Commissioner Gordon set his sights on her.

It had been quite a while since he'd had a good excuse to see Selina, though. They knew each other well enough that he could call her up for coffee or brunch, but something about her always made him hesitate. The cover of another philanthropic event felt… required.

It was probably the intensity of purpose that radiated off of Selina. Her intensity honed down to a sharp, tiny, tolerant smile whenever she encountered Bruce Wayne, Gotham's playboy. Come to think of it, Catwoman had a similar intense energy the few times he had encountered her. Bruce could imagine Selina's laugh at being compared to the famous cat burglar. She'd probably love it. She wasn't the type to be scandalized.

The ball started at eight o'clock. Alfred had him dressed and coiffed with thirty minutes to spare. Bruce set out from Wayne Manor in an appropriately sleek sports car, knowing Alfred would meet him with the Batmobile at midnight in one of their hidden places around town. He took his time on the winding roads leading back into the city, then roared up to the valet parking in front of the Natural History Museum exactly fifteen minutes after eight o'clock. Sometimes he did an even better job of pretending to be irresponsible and late, but tonight he figured 'nearly on time' served just as well.

Bruce tossed his keys to the valet, flicked imaginary dust off of the shoulder of his tux, and headed in. He handed a pre-filled and signed check to a well-dressed lady at a table covered in red velvet. When he smiled, she blushed to match the tablecloth and gave him his proof of plate purchase—a little gold cheetah lapel pin. He placed it carefully and set the backing. It wouldn't do to break a thread on this tux; Alfred would murder him in his sleep.

He had another check already prepared for his actual donation to the cause. It was a number he hoped would make that tiny smile of Selina's broaden into something authentic.

Warm light, the melodic strains of a string quartet, and the unmistakable musty smell of fossilized dinosaurs swept over Bruce as he entered the main hall of Gotham's Natural History Museum. He took a proffered glass of champagne and pretended to sip it, one hand in his pocket as he casually walked the perimeter of the gathering. A banner emblazoned with "Gotham Cat and Habitat Conservation Society Annual Charity Ball" stretched across a raised dais toward the back of the large space. A generous dance floor had been put down in the center.

Curiously, several tableaus of taxidermied big cats from different sections of the museum had been brought in, but the glass enclosures were spattered with red paint. It looked as though blood striped the exteriors of scenes of lions taking down zebras, pumas feasting on deer, and other cats made to look fierce in their natural environments.

Bruce came close to the dais and saw the table for the board of directors, placards for the officers at each of their seats. Selina Kyle was behind the table, rifling through her clutch for something.

Bruce stood at the foot of the dais, champagne in hand. He looked up at the graceful woman with a smile on his lips. She'd cut her dark hair stylishly short. In combination with her strapless evening gown, it made her pale neck look beautifully slender. She snapped her clutch shut and straightened up. He caught her eye then, and she narrowed her gaze in admonishment.

"Staring is rude, Bruce," Selina called out to him across the table.

He only grinned, not taking his eyes away for a moment. She shook her head, exasperated, and came around to the edge of the dais. He met her at the steps and handed her down, her other gloved hand gently lifting her dress away from her heels as she descended.

"I knew you were a cat fancier, Selina, but I had no idea you were involved in rescue and conservation as well," Bruce rumbled, tugging her fingers forward and dropping a light kiss on them as soon as she was steady on her feet.

Selina offered a tight, insincere smile. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Bruce. Neglect and abuse of felines is a major problem—both in Gotham and abroad. This charity aims to assist both locally and globally."

She took her hand back, subconsciously rubbing the glove where he'd kissed her. Bruce glanced around at the unusual decor and indicated one of the exhibits with a sweep of his hand.

"Is that why you held the ball here at the Natural History Museum? So you could use the exhibits as examples?"

"Exactly right," Selina agreed. "Most of these animals were killed and taxidermied over eighty years ago, when there were no laws and no concept of protection for predators. The museum has no moral obligation to remove them, but they did agree to let us gussy them up to make our point."

"The red certainly does that—startling and stark," Bruce mused.

"Good. I hope it shocks a few of these socialites into a conscience," Selina replied harshly.

She caught herself and sighed, smoothing her face into a more agreeable expression.

"Sorry, Bruce. Sometimes I look at the wealth floating around this city… and it breaks my heart for the less fortunate."

"I understand completely," Bruce agreed, his deep voice barely above a whisper.

Selina stifled a shiver. She broke eye contact with him and glanced around the bustling room. Bruce lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handed it to her, noticing how she rubbed her arms.

"Are you cold? Here, take my jacket," he offered, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine," Selina insisted. "In fact, I should probably—"

"Hold that thought," Bruce cut in as the quartet shifted into a jazz standard with a good beat. "Let's dance, Selina."

Overwhelming her protests with carefully cultivated charm, he enjoyed one dance with Selina Kyle, then released her to her duties. He made sure to pass in front of at least one reputable photographer while they were on the floor. It served Wayne Industries for him to be active on the charity circuit and the publicity served Selina, too. Her ambition was well known. Having some innocent fun was good for her image.

At dinner, Bruce found himself among a few older members of Gotham's elite. He didn't mind at all. He usually attracted crowds of vapid young women, but there were fewer than usual at this event. He shrugged to himself; perhaps they were mostly dog people. He seated himself next to a couple that had been friends of his parents, and spent the meal catching up with them and looking at photos of their grandchildren. He resisted the frequent urge to check his watch. They listened to various speakers, including Selina, that made impassioned pleas for funds to help the small cats of Gotham and the big cats of the world. When the hat was passed to accept donations, he dropped in his check.

Midnight came sooner than he expected, despite his impatience. He feigned tiredness and accompanied his parents' friends out, making sure to exchange one last pleasantry with Selina before he left.

Once he was in his vehicle, Bruce touched base with Alfred. He was already waiting in a warehouse Bruce owned down by the river. Somehow, the streetlights in that part of town were always burning out and it was singularly difficult to get a good view of passing cars.

Bruce allowed himself a private moment of thought as he drove to the rendezvous point. There'd been an unusual sparkle in Selina's eyes that night, the kind of look Bruce associated with hang gliding or watching your team win the Superbowl. He wondered what fueled her exhilaration. She had flirted with him during their single dance, her lithe figure indicating physical attraction even as her clever tongue said no in twenty different ways.

He'd happily take a lashing like that every day of the week if it meant he could see her more often. She only knew him as the playboy, however. He projected charm, irreverence, immaturity. Bruce knew it would never win over someone as driven as Selina. She was looking for an equal, a partner. As the Batman, he could never risk getting in so deep.

He pulled into a broad alley beside his building and depressed a button on the dash. A sturdy, well-oiled garage door raised up with hardly a sound. Bruce nosed the sports car inside and cut the engine. The garage door lowered behind him.

"Did you have a good time?" asked Alfred as Bruce tossed him the keys.

"I ran into the McAllisters. It was nice," Bruce replied.

He carefully removed his tux jacket and handed it to Alfred, who draped it over one arm. Next came the slacks. Alfred had them both on a hanger before Bruce could blink. He placed his bow tie in Alfred's waiting palm and added the cufflinks. The familiarity of years meant that no words needed to be exchanged.

When Bruce slipped his dress shirt off over his shoulders and reached for the hanger Alfred held, the older man slapped his hand.

"You'd best be about your business, Sir," he reproved, taking the dress shirt away.

"And leave you to yours, I see," Bruce chuckled.

He turned to the other vehicle in the warehouse.

"Batmobile, open," he commanded.

The smooth, tinted hatch slid back and he leapt over the side into the driver's seat. A push of a button set the seat to recline. As soon as he was horizontal, the Batmobile fitted him with his batsuit, hidden in the bowels of the vehicle. The engine roared to life as the seat brought him back up. Batman nodded once to Alfred and spun off into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Gotham City still vibrated with energy at the witching hour, especially on a Friday night. The Batmobile cruised lesser-used streets in the dark parts of town. Pedestrians and revelers were everywhere, despite Batman's attempts to avoid them. He set the Batmobile to autopilot and switched his monitor over to his drones—the latest appropriation of Wayne Industries tech to be added to his arsenal.

The drones scoped out wide areas of Catwoman's usual stomping grounds, hovering high over the city and zooming in on rooftops and out-of-the-way places. He eliminated several sections of the city, unable to find her anywhere. Batman sighed. It would be his luck if she decided to stay in for the night.

A shadow flowed across one rooftop, disappearing behind a pigeon coop.

 _Gotcha_ , thought Batman.

He parked the Batmobile in a dark alley and cut the engine. In moments, he was accelerating up toward an ugly old stone gargoyle, its shoulders wrapped in his grappling hook line. He pushed off of a cornice with both feet and used his momentum to flip up and over, landing silently on the roof.

No sound betrayed Catwoman's surprise at seeing him, but he felt it emanating from the dark corner behind the pigeon coop.

"Catwoman. I'm just here to talk," Batman said, gloved hands held out in front of him. He used the rough tone he affected to hide Bruce Wayne's memorable bass.

"Talk? Seriously? Since when do we exchange pleasantries, Batman?" Catwoman took a few cautious steps around the side of the coop, one clawed finger trailing the chicken wire enclosing it.

"Since that time you helped me stop the Joker," replied Batman.

He could hardly see her. She was dressed all in black with her signature cat-eared cowl covering everything but the pale oval of her face, topped with the goggles she wore to hide her identity. Then she finally stepped away from the shadow of the coop, and muted moonlight shone off of her slim leather catsuit. Her sinews and curves were all of a whole. Her muscles were tense, ready to strike or spring away. Batman couldn't blame her.

"Well, I couldn't let him kill people, could I? He's a homicidal maniac. I have friends, family. It was nothing to do with you," Catwoman said, tilting her head imperiously.

"Fair enough," he agreed. "I think we have another situation involving common interests, so to speak. Crimes involving cats are happening in our city. What do you know about it?"

"Is some little psycho killing cats? It'd be better if you hadn't told me," hissed Catwoman.

She gripped the whip coiled at her side. Batman put up a hand again to reassure her, even as he slowly reached for a batarang in his belt.

"No. Cats are being stolen. Primarily expensive cats, but also cats from all around the city. You can see how it looks."

Catwoman's posture went defensive as she faced him squarely and crossed her arms. "I can see how it looks? Batman, I steal dead things. Inert things. Things that don't require care and feeding. Things that make me lots of money."

"So you're saying you haven't been stealing any actual cats? Not a one?"

"Not one," she replied, dropping a hand to her hip. "But I'll keep an eye out for you, alright? I don't like competition."

A rare half-smile drew up one side of Batman's face. "I suppose that's the best I can ask for. Don't steal anything tonight, alright? I don't feel like chasing you down again."

Catwoman snorted. "I'll consider it. See you around, Batman."

With that, she stepped to the edge of the roof and launched herself into a graceful dive. Batman's stomach went with her for a moment, but then he saw her whip snap out and coil around a streetlight. She swung away into the night.

 _So that's what it looks like_ , he thought as he left in the other direction. In the morning, he'd contact Commissioner Gordon and let him know he'd confirmed their lead suspect.

Catwoman cursed to herself as she dropped to the ground behind a dumpster, certain that she'd lost Batman. There was no way to know whether she'd fooled Gotham's number one detective. She was sure he had a tell, but she'd yet to discover it. Until that time, she suppressed her own reactions as best she could when they had one of their rare meetings.

It had been difficult managing the charity ball on top of her already packed agenda. She'd almost decided not to don the catsuit tonight. As Selina Kyle, she was doing everything in her power to provide for the neglected cats of Gotham. As Catwoman, she was taking direct action.

Hopefully, leaving early from her own charity ball hadn't been too noticeable. There were bigger fish to fry this evening, and she couldn't afford to worry about her image right now. Not with lives at stake. She'd received a tip about a pet store with a stock of kittens that barely received enough food and water to live. Her anger spurred her on.

Catwoman unscrewed the bottom of her whip handle, revealing a hidden compartment with a key fob. She pressed a button on the fob and was rewarded with a quick flash of lights and a _twip-twip_ noise that echoed around the dingy alley. She grinned maliciously to herself. The old gray van with ridiculous cat ears on the roof was over the top, but Catwoman had no faith in Gotham PD's ability to track even the most ostentatious criminal vehicle. Look at all the ludicrous clown cars the Joker had driven over the years—no cops had ever managed to track back to the place he stashed them. She'd already given Batman the slip, so there was no one to follow her.

Catwoman got behind the wheel and twisted her key in the ignition. The engine's low purr matched her chuckle of delight. This was going to be fun.

She maneuvered the gray van through quiet streets until she came to a run-down commercial area of town. She pulled up to the curb in front of a store called _Feline Boutique_. Feeling brazen, Catwoman knelt and popped the pathetic lock on the front door in a matter of moments. A bell tinkled as she crossed the threshold of the dark pet store. She made a beeline for the back room, pushing aside a heavy curtain to peer in.

There was no one around. The place was dark and still—except for a few tiny mews from one corner of the room. Catwoman tapped a button on her goggles and illuminated a small area with a narrow flashlight beam.

"Sweeties, I'm here to take you home. Just be patient for me a little longer, okay?" She crooned in a soothing voice as she came to a stack of cages.

The meowing intensified as she pulled two kittens from the first cage and loaded them into a soft-sided duffel slung over her shoulder. The kittens struggled to climb over each other, but fell back with adorable clumsiness. Catwoman's flashlight raced over the interior of the cage as she turned her head. There was no water in their dishes and just a crumb or two of kibble left. Catwoman's anger burned hot. She quickly opened the second cage and, reminding herself to be gentle, took out two more kittens. She removed every kitten from the room and zipped the duffel mostly closed to keep them from tumbling out. The bag shook a little as the kittens rolled about inside—there were a lot of them.

Catwoman turned to leave but stopped, noticing a pen and notebook on a desk by the door. She bent and jotted a quick sentence. Ripping the page loose, she folded her note and tucked it into the uppermost cage, where it couldn't be seen from ground level.

She made tracks then, certain she was pushing the limit of her time window. With the kittens secure in the back of the van, Catwoman buckled in and drove away. She heard sirens as she turned the corner, but saw no lights. She'd made it.

* * *

"Another day, another ticked off cat owner," Commissioner Gordon muttered to Batman as he pushed aside the heavy curtain and motioned the vigilante to precede him.

Batman entered the back room of the _Feline Boutique_ , ducking his head to keep his cowl ears from tangling in the curtain. The dirty storage area of the pet store was made uglier by the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights that illuminated it. Batman looked at the empty kitten cages in one corner, all the doors hanging half open.

"Where is he?" Batman asked, turning to the Commissioner.

"Who—oh, the owner? I… _convinced_ him to take a walk around the block. Not a very nice man. I'm hoping a few moments away will calm him down, but it's doubtful. I wanted a few minutes to process without him shouting in my ear." The Commissioner's lips wrinkled under his moustache.

"Mmm," hummed Batman as he pulled his trusty flashlight from his utility belt and snapped on the beam.

He started with the bottom row of cages, noting their dirty interiors and the absence of water. The cages didn't get any better the higher he went.

"I talked to Catwoman last night," he mentioned casually as Commissioner Gordon turned a keen eye over the rest of the space.

"Is she the culprit?" the Commissioner asked bluntly.

"She says she didn't do it," Batman replied, "but she did."

"What, you have proof? I can call the station right now!"

Batman shook his head, then stretched up high to get a view of the top cages in the stack.

"Hold that thought, Commissioner."

Batman fished around in the top cage and pulled out a square of paper, folded once. He flipped it open.

 _"I told you I hadn't stolen_ _one_ _,"_ the note read in a neat, feminine print.

"Your proof, Jim," Batman said, passing the note to Commissioner Gordon with two fingers.

"How did you know?" the Commissioner asked, taking the note. He reached for the walkie-talkie at his belt.

"Catwoman tries to hide it, but she's got the same body language tells anyone else does when they lie. It doesn't amount to evidence, of course, but it's generally wise to know when someone is lying to you."

The sound of heavy stomping feet interrupted them and a tall man with slicked-back black hair burst into the room.

"Where are my cats?" he shouted, jabbing a finger at Commissioner Gordon's chest.

The pencil the Commissioner held snapped in half as he leaned back, startled.

"Mr. Ricks, as I already explained, we'll try our best to find your cats," he replied.

"You need to do better than that! I'm out of business without my cats. The store's called _Feline Boutique_ \- without the felines, I've got nothing! I can't wait on you. I'll be better off looking for them myself." Vitriol and spittle flew from the man's mouth in equal measure.

Batman took half a step forward, but the Commissioner fixed him with a steel glint that he then turned on Mr. Ricks.

"You're welcome to try. I recognize that this is your livelihood, Mr. Ricks, but you are the third angry cat owner I've dealt with in two days. You can trust that this is my top priority. Now, if I find that you have interfered in the investigation in any way, or harassed any of my officers, I'll pursue obstruction of justice charges against you. Let me do my work." The Commissioner didn't raise his voice, but a cold fury burned in his eyes that made Mr. Ricks back away.

Mr. Ricks visibly swallowed. "Alright then, Commissioner. Uh, thank you for your time. Uh-"

"Where's the back door?" Batman interrupted.

"Over there." Mr. Ricks pointed with a weak hand.

"Jim, I want you to take a look at something," Batman murmured.

The pair of them stepped around Mr. Ricks, who still stood there dumbfounded.

"Have a good day, Mr. Ricks," the Commissioner said as the exit closed behind them.

In the alley behind Feline Boutique, he let out an exasperated sigh. He scratched behind his ear with the broken pencil and pocketed his notebook.

"I don't understand it, Batman. The cats in that shop weren't valuable. Why would Catwoman steal them?" The Commissioner asked.

He followed Batman's line of sight as the caped crusader pointed a gloved hand down the alley.

"What do you see back here?" Batman asked.

"Trash. Garbage cans. Dirt," the Commissioner replied.

"But no cats," noted Batman. "Usually Gotham's alleys are full of stray cats scavenging food. I didn't notice the decrease in animals until a few nights ago, but I believe it's been going on for a long time.

"This isn't about money, Jim. Catwoman's angry about these cats. Angry enough to steal—and who knows? Maybe even angry enough to kill. I've got to stop her."

"What will you do?" the Commissioner asked.

Batman tapped his chin. "I have a plan, but it's better if we wait until tonight. I'll contact you once I have everything I need. For now, please make sure all the evidence is logged in. Catwoman has famously slipped beyond Gotham PD's reach in the past. It's time to put a stop to it."


	5. Chapter 5

Many thanks to all my readers for your continued support. This story has been so much fun, and I'm so glad to be sharing it with you! Two more chapters to go - they will both be posted this week. I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

* * *

Bruce got to the office thirty minutes early, energized by Batman's morning escapade at the pet shop. He couldn't get Catwoman's earnest rage from the night before out of his head. He should have put together the pieces sooner, but to be honest, the plight of stray cats around Gotham City was very low on his radar. The humans of Gotham suffered as much, if not more, than the animals—though he agreed deep down that the need to care for the city's animals wasn't diminished by Gotham's other problems.

Debra looked up from her desk and smiled when she caught Bruce's eye. _Uh oh,_ thought Bruce. _I know that smile._

"I made you an appointment," Debra sing-songed.

"I'm all booked up for today—er, errands and that sort of thing. Alfred knows," Bruce answered, trying to glide past his secretary's desk.

The sanctuary of his office was only ten feet away. He could make it in three seconds.

"It's a lunch date. Alfred said lunch was clear today. Selina Kyle."

Bruce stopped in his tracks. Debra's dimple was out in force and couldn't have been more charming. She held a pen at the ready over her desk calendar. Her voice oozed a false nonchalance.

"Shall I cancel it? For your errands?"

The pen descended quickly . Bruce involuntarily reached out a hand to stop it. Debra was pitiless!

"No! Ah, I mean, no, thank you, Debra. Lunch with Selina sounds nice. I'm surprised she called, honestly."

Bruce snatched his hand back and stuffed it into the pocket of his well-tailored suit. He felt uncharacteristically nervous. Between Debra and Alfred, he sometimes wondered who exactly was in charge.

"Don't be. I think the Gotham Cat and Habitat Conservation Society is following up on several of the larger donations; sort of a one-on-one thank-you for your contribution. Or at least that's what Ms. Kyle said." Debra shrugged and set down her pen, turning to her computer.

Summarily dismissed, Bruce walked the last few feet to his office; work and a particularly hairy land development issue was waiting for him, after all. He turned at the doorway and looked back, his mouth half open and a half-finished thought on his lips. Debra cocked a suppressive eyebrow at him. He shut his mouth, shook his head, and closed the door behind him.

By the time lunch rolled around, Bruce couldn't have been more happy about the break. He'd researched both hard and soft copies of Gotham's property and zoning laws for several hours and was ready to tear his hair out. He knew his legal team had already pored over the pages in depth. But Bruce Wayne was smart too, when he chose to show it, and he certainly was stubborn. A morning spent with dusty old legal volumes wasn't out of character. He leaned back in his luxurious office chair and scrubbed his hands over his eyes with a sigh. There were absolutely no loopholes. He'd have to pay the piper if he wanted to start residential and commercial development on that land.

Debra buzzed in on his intercom. "Don't forget your lunch date, Mr. Wayne. Alfred will pick you up in five minutes."

As if he could! Bruce grinned to himself and rose, smoothing the rumples out of his button-down shirt. He snagged his suit jacket on the way out of the office, gave Debra a conciliatory wink, and got on his way. Unabashed, Debra winked back.

"There he goes—like a bat out of hell when it comes to Selina," she sighed happily to herself.

Selina's glossy short locks were easy to pick out among the lunch crowd at The Dark Bite, a trendy downtown restaurant. She was seated outside under the shade of gently swaying branches. Trust Selina to know a spot with natural greenery to brighten the experience, Bruce thought.

She looked up and smiled as he approached.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked.

Selina pulled a mock frown. "You'd better not. I'm expecting a high-powered businessman to join me for lunch."

"I'll just move over when he arrives," Bruce assured her and seated himself.

Selina smiled and looked the other way as he removed his suit jacket. An impeccably dressed waiter poured a glass of water, then another of white wine.

"I hope you don't mind; I chose something 'summery' to match the weather," Selina said, indicating his wineglass with the wave of a hand.

"Sounds perfect," Bruce agreed.

"So how are you? How's Alfred? Dick?" Selina asked, once ordering was out of the way.

Bruce sipped his water and leaned back into his rattan chair.

"We're all in good health. Dick's a little bored by summer vacation, but he'll survive. He's a bit too old for camp now. He needs to find a job."

Selina let loose a silvery peal of laughter. "You definitely _sound_ like a dad. Are you going to find him something at Wayne Enterprises?"

Bruce shook his head. "Maybe in a few years, but he's too young and too charming to actually do any work at 'dad's' business for now. They'd let him get away with murder—and he would take full advantage."

"Sounds like someone I know," Selina chuckled.

"Guilty as charged," Bruce agreed with a grin.

They paused, comfortable in the lull. A breeze stirred the napkins under their water glasses and sent the leaves overhead into a dizzying swirl. Dappled shadows danced delicately across Selina's beautiful face. Bruce let his mind wander into territory he scrupulously avoided. Selina's company was always a delight and left him strangely wanting when he was alone once more. He couldn't help but wonder how a relationship with her would be. To ask for more—to give more. To see her smile each day, and hear her voice murmur close to his ear. At times like this, he was keenly aware of the shadow of the bat over his shoulder. Its burden felt heavy, its protection thin.

Bruce shook himself and tuned into what Selina was saying.

"...and we've put down earnest money to secure the property, and things are just going perfect. The new Gotham Cat Sanctuary should start moving ahead full speed in about a month. Honestly, that's why we've been making the rounds and saying thank you to our donors. It's such a perfect piece of land, and your contribution came at just the right time. Bruce, I can't wait to make this place a reality. It'll have room for all kinds of cats, big or small. State of the art veterinary facilities, specifically designed for feline health. Enough room that we'll be able to take in new animals indefinitely—which is so important with all the kill shelters here in town! And there are some big cats with strange histories; we find more of them every day. Do you know, down in Texas, there's a lion in a sanctuary zoo that was owned by a drug dealer? Can you imagine? Those are the kind of animals I want to help."

Selina's eyes shone with passion. Bruce stared, mesmerized. Selina was famously unflappable—he should know. He'd been trying to get a rise out of her for years. Her new project had clearly taken over, in the best way.

Her phone rang at the edge of the table. She checked the screen, thin eyebrows raised.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Bruce. Do you mind if I take this?" Selina half-rose from her chair.

Bruce inclined his head. Selina pushed away from the table and stepped over to the waist-high wrought iron fence that enclosed the restaurant's porch. Their food arrived moments after she left, a phenomenon that never seemed to fail in Bruce's experience. He unrolled his silverware, settled his napkin on his lap, and awaited Selina's return.

His first clue that something was up was a shift in Selina's posture as she returned. She still smiled, but it appeared glued in place. Bruce set down his fork, concerned.

"What's up, Selina?" he asked, trying to peer under her lowered lashes.

She shook her head, chin dipping toward her chest. Bruce leaned forward and reached over with one hand. Her fists were balled up tight, white knuckle tight. He could feel tension thrumming under her thin skin.

"Selina, please tell me," he murmured.

Her chin trembled a bit as she took a shaky breath. One tear dropped onto the tablecloth.

"The property's been purchased," she whispered.

"Oh, no…" Bruce groaned.

Selina nodded, frowning. "Some developer made a better offer. More likely he bribed the right city official. There were no other offers as of this morning! They were going to sign papers with us this afternoon. I can't believe this."

Bruce rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, willing her fingers to unclench beneath his own. Selina brought up the edge of her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. She gave a gusty sigh.

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I've ruined our lunch." She cast regretful red eyes over the table.

Bruce shook his head forcefully. "Don't be. Selina, I know we're not close, but… you can come to me with anything. I'll always listen."

Selina gave a tremulous smile. "I know that Bruce, and thank you. And you're wrong. We _are_ close. We're just busy."

"That's true enough," Bruce agreed. His heart wavered between a plunge of concern for his friend and a leap at the smile he'd brought back to her face.

They turned to other topics over the meal, but Selina's bubbly energy never quite rallied. Bruce felt—and compartmentalized—irrational anger at the investors who'd cheated her out of her dream. Not a single call came through on his phone. He knew he had Debra to thank for that.

Inevitably, the time came for Selina to return to her other duties. Bruce didn't press her for another glass of wine or dessert. She'd stayed pleasant through the meal, but it was clear she needed time to process her disappointment.

He escorted her to the valet and waited as her car was brought up.

"So, have you heard about the recent string of cat thefts in Gotham?" Bruce asked.

He'd stayed well away from mentioning it to anyone, but Gotham PD had broken the story in a news conference just that morning.

Selina stiffened and cocked her head to look at him. "I saw it on the news, yes."

"It's such a disparate collection of animals—big cats, a show cat, kittens from a pet store. I wonder what the commonality is," Bruce mused.

"I trust Gotham PD to handle it," Selina shrugged. "Or maybe Batman will get involved."

"Maybe," agreed Bruce.

Her car ready and running at the curb, Selina turned to Bruce and took his hands. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Bruce. For everything. It's really nice to see you."

He gave her fingers an extra squeeze and let go. "You too, Selina."

He watched her drive away, brake lights flashing as she merged with traffic. Alfred pulled up a few seconds later and came around to let Bruce into his vintage black Rolls Royce. Bruce smiled to himself when he noticed the well-trained valets side-eyeing the vehicle. Lost in thought, he strapped in and let Alfred return him to Wayne Industries.

* * *

Batman met up with Commissioner Gordon late in the evening at the GCPD Headquarters. Everyone except the beat cops and the front desk on duty had gone home for the day. Things were quiet as Batman slipped into a utility closet window he was familiar with. He didn't know whether Jim found it unsettling or reassuring that Batman could get into into the GCPD building undetected, but it was always wise to have as much knowledge of a space as possible. From inside, the closet had a simple twist lock. Batman let himself out, careful to check the deserted hallway. Jim's office was three doors away.

He noted first the noises coming from a cat carrier on Commissioner Gordon's desk. Someone was protesting their incarceration.

"Ruffy, I presume?" asked Batman from the doorway.

"Oh! Batman! Do you always have to sneak up like that?" Commissioner Gordon grabbed at his heart as he looked up with wide eyes.

"Sorry, Jim. Force of habit." Batman came up to the desk and peered into Ruffy's carrier. "You're a handsome fellow. Ready to serve your city, Ruffy?"

The tiny white cat meowed a question in return.

Jim rolled his eyes as he removed Ruffy from the cage. "Needy little thing. I can't deny I love him, though. He's a good cat."

He held his pet up high as Batman pulled a thin collar outfitted with a location transmitter from his bat belt. He placed it around Ruffy's neck and buckled it.

"Now, you're sure the collar is secure?" Commissioner Gordon asked.

"You won't lose Ruffy—that's a promise. I'll take good care of him," answered Batman.

Commissioner Gordon gave Ruffy's ears one last scratch, then deposited him into Batman's waiting gloves. Ruffy revved up his purr. The Commissioner fixed the little cat with a droll expression.

"Well! Would you look at that! How quickly I'm replaced," commented the Commissioner.

"Makes my job all the easier," Batman chuckled.

He didn't mention the catnip hidden in one pocket of his belt. Batman hitched Ruffy into an underarm carry and shook hands with Commissioner Gordon. He opened a window and ducked out under the panes of glass. The night air was cool and pleasant. Little Ruffy's whiskers twitched as he sniffed about curiously.

"If my suspicions are right, I'll have him back to you in less than a day, Jim. Thanks for volunteering Ruffy."

Commissioner Gordon gave a final nod. He stepped back as Batman fired his grappling hook and swung away.

A few blocks away, Batman dropped down into an unnamed alley and remotely opened the Batmobile. Ruffy leapt right in and settled himself to one side of Batman's centered seat. Batman shook his head.

"I'd almost think you understand what we're up to. Or maybe it's just the catnip," he told the cat.

Batman and Ruffy drove to the edge of town and stopped at a deserted block. The area was somewhat known for being Catwoman's haunt, although of course no one knew her actual location. Glimpses and sightings, amounting to little more than urban legend, were Batman's main body of evidence. He was reduced to hoping it was true—and hoping she was not watching from the shadows. Batman cast a keen eye all around as the translucent carapace of the Batmobile slid back. Not a single shadow stirred.

"Alright, Ruffy. This is it. Do the Commissioner proud," said Batman.

He exited the vehicle and picked Ruffy up. He deposited the small cat in an unassuming alley with a surprisingly decent amount of trash. The area was known for non-violent squatters. As a result, Batman hardly ever visited it. Thieves and murderers were more his concern. He pressed a hidden button on the side of Ruffy's collar, then let the cat go.

Ruffy immediately took off down the alley to explore. Batman felt a twinge of concern. Ruffy was a pampered housecat, not a tough, feral stray. If he got in a fight, he could literally be eaten alive. Batman had already noted the absence of other strays—just like the alley near the pet shop. Hopefully Ruffy wouldn't encounter another cat at all.

Batman leapt back into the Batmobile and sped away. He had a hiding spot or two even in this part of town. He parked not far from Ruffy's alley and turned off the vehicle. Ruffy's locator pinged on the Batmobile's display and the readout of his vital signs was normal. Batman settled in for the night. He was officially on a stakeout.


	6. Chapter 6

Catwoman melted back against the driver's seat of her van with a satisfied smile. Her efforts to re-home every stray in Gotham were evident all over the city. She slowly patrolled her first chosen neighborhood of the night. There were no cats to be seen. Either the owners in this part of town were keeping their kitties in at night, or she'd already picked up the wandering animals. It was a win both ways. Cats were tough, she knew, but domestic house cats were meant to be cared for. Putting them at risk around stray dogs or other animals was heartless. Catwoman clenched her fists around the steering wheel. No matter. She had hold of most of the cats in Gotham by now.

An hour of driving back and forth through the streets of Gotham revealed no new stray cats. There were also no police patrol cars or security of any kind for the buildings. A pedestrian or two sighted her audacious cat-ear van, but they walked on. Typical Gotham. Catwoman rolled her eyes. It would be so easy to go back to her bread and butter, but she had plenty of money left from her last heist. She and the cats were very well provided for.

Just as she decided to return home, a flash of white fur caught her eye in an alley across the street. Catwoman pulled over, parking illegally in a fire lane.

 _Ha_ , she thought defiantly. She almost hoped a cop would try to ticket her. She left the van running and walked across the deserted street. A tiny white cat with a collar rooted through an overturned trash can.

"Kitty, kitty," Catwoman enticed, squatting down to pet the little stray.

She checked for a tag, but found none. She frowned.

"Someone shouldn't have left you out without an ID. You're fair game now. You don't need to search the trash, little guy. I've got just the thing for you back at my place." Catwoman gathered the willing kitty into her arms and pressed him to her chest.

 _Yet another cat neglected by its owner. How am I even supposed to return him with no identification?_ she thought, incensed.

She looked down in surprise as a giant purr erupted from the ball of fluff in her arms. His motor was unusually powerful for such a small cat. Catwoman smiled and hugged him close as she ran back across the street and got into her van.

She stowed the cat securely in the back with a handful of treats and drove away. A sense of triumph infused her. Maybe it was only one cat for the night, but that simply showed her success over the past month.

Catwoman turned toward the highway, discontent despite the new addition to her little clan. She couldn't shake her recent defeat as Selina Kyle. She'd been counting on the new Gotham Cat Sanctuary to become the permanent home for all the cats she'd amassed. Her current warehouse facility was inadequate, though she was giving them the best she could. That property had been unfairly yanked out of her claws. If she thought about it too hard, it made her mad enough to spit.

Catwoman sighed. She couldn't afford the exposure revenge would bring, no matter how sweet it would feel to track down those cheating developers with dollar signs in their eyes. She could enter their homes easily, she was sure. Just like she'd gotten into the Gotham Auditorium for the Westminster Cat Show's star kitten. And a second time, to listen in on the conversation between Batman and Commissioner Gordon. Catwoman couldn't help a smirk. A wig combined with a hat pulled low to cover her face, and they hadn't given her a second glance. Greatest Detective, indeed!

She exited the highway and traveled smoothly to a run-down warehouse district with most of the street lights burned out. It was the kind of place where everyone minded their own business. She knew Poison Ivy had settled in somewhere nearby and there were at least two more of Gotham's prime criminal element in the vicinity, but she knew better than to go look for them with a plate of cookies. Better if they all maintained their own interests and stayed ignorant of everyone else.

"We're home, little cat," Catwoman announced, parking her cat van.

"Miaow?" the cat asked, hopping up onto the island next to her elbow.

"Yep. There's dry food, wet food, and I think I even have a few cans of tuna left," replied Catwoman.

She scooped the creature up and carried him to her rented warehouse. A huge metal garage door, purposely covered over with wooden slats, took up half of the warehouse's front. Upper windows were all boarded over, to give the impression of abandonment. Catwoman walked around the corner to a regular door in the alley and unlocked it. She let herself and the cat in, then locked and deadbolted the door behind her.

An unmistakable murmur floated down the staircase. Unafraid, the white cat bounded up the stairs. Catwoman followed, smiling. Every cat seemed to be completely at ease and aware of their safety the moment she brought them in. She opened the unlocked door at the top of the stairs and pushed it wide.

"Welcome home, little cat. Meet your new brothers and sisters!" announced Catwoman.

The little feline eagerly rushed in. Catwoman chuckled as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Batman folded and unfolded his arms in the Batmobile. It was roomy, true, but stakeouts were rarely comfortable even in a luxurious interior. He'd been seated for hours. He was prepared to stay the whole night if he needed to, but it wasn't his favorite way to spend the hours of darkness.

An alert sounded as Ruffy's locator pinged on the display. Information scrolling across the bottom indicated that the cat was on the move at forty miles an hour.

"About time," grumbled Batman.

He checked Ruffy's vitals one last time. Reassured, he fired up the Batmobile and sped away toward the locator's electronic signal.

Batman followed the signal into one of Gotham's most unsavory sectors on the north side of town. He was several streets away from the ping, with no way to be seen by his prey and no need to draw closer. Catwoman was still his prime suspect, but he hadn't actually seen her steal a cat yet—and her confession note was unsigned.

Nonetheless, he had to admit he couldn't understand why she teased him with the note at all. It was bold. Not her signature subtle cat burglar style. Batman well knew that Catwoman was only detectable in the act if she wanted to be. The difference this time—a difference he'd been counting on—was that her most recent thefts were crimes of passion. It made her usually cautious protocol a bit lax. She probably hadn't even looked at Ruffy's collar. Batman smiled to himself. He only needed one mistake to unravel her string of crimes.

He was still two blocks away when Ruffy's collar stopped moving. The locator was accurate within six inches—he'd tested it in the Batcave before bringing it to the Commissioner. It moved again, but now at a standard walking pace for human or cat.

 _Gotcha_ , Batman thought. Ruffy and his abductor had arrived.

Batman nosed the silent-running Batmobile down a narrow alleyway. The space was primarily neat, with only a few pieces of trash strewn here and there. He came out next to a large gray van with cat ears and a giant pink paw print painted on the side.

"You've got to be kidding me," Batman muttered as he pulled up behind it and put the Batmobile in park.

Had Catwoman really been going around in this ancient van? He guessed she very well might. It was truly an insult to law enforcement and nearly as tacky as some of the Joker's vehicles. He blocked in Catwoman's van with the Batmobile. It was parked in front of a boarded up garage door. The warehouse building was made of dingy brick and all the upper windows were boarded over, but Batman wasn't fooled. He pulled a grappling hook from his utility belt and unfolded it. Batman aimed for the rooftop and fired.

A quiet, scuffling sound outside almost escaped Catwoman's notice, but a hundred cats stilled and turned toward it. She knew better than to ignore their instincts.

"Batman," Catwoman muttered. She moved with deadly grace to the back of the warehouse's second floor, away from the windows.

Her guess proved correct as a pair of feet slammed the boards outside. They landed twice more, then the window exploded inward with bits of broken wood and glass. Catwoman edged toward the door. She'd do the cats no good against Batman. Her heart twisted. She wanted to stay, but she was a cat burglar, not a martial artist. She cursed the land developers who'd bid on the sanctuary property. Just a little more time, and all these cats would have had a wonderful home out in the open, where no one could touch them!

"Going somewhere?" sneered an unfamiliar voice from the stairs.

Catwoman stopped short. Robin!

He deftly blocked her exit, wearing his trademark smirk. She'd only ever encountered him in their one fight against the Joker, but he looked taller now. Wait - was he a child?

"How old are you?" she demanded, perplexed.

Robin's insouciant stance tightened. "Seriously? That's what you have to say?"

Catwoman shook her head, eyeing the doorway around him. He was probably strong, but maybe she could slip past if she were fast enough. She looked back. Batman stared her down from across the warehouse.

"It's over, Catwoman," he rumbled.

His deep voice filled the cavernous space, tumbling over and over into echoes that died in darkness. It felt like a nightmare. She darted quick glances left and right, but all the perimeter windows of the second floor were securely boarded.

 _Great job, Selina,_ she thought sourly. _You kept the cats in_ and _built yourself a one-way ticket to prison._

Batman angled a batarang on a line over an exposed steel beam and swung over the mass of collected cats on the floor. Catwoman shrank back from both of the costumed heroes, but then gave herself a mental shake.

 _What are you doing? This pair can't touch you!_ she thought as Robin advanced, leaving the stairwell unprotected. Catwoman straightened and placed one hand on the whip coiled at her side. Its hard, leather handle reassured her. Her major disappointment earlier in the day had stung more than she cared to admit. She was back now, though, and she smiled haughtily as the men approached.

"You two are missing the real crime here. Batman, you and I both know these cats were treated horribly by their owners. Could _you_ just stand by and watch?" Catwoman lifted her chin, standing tall.

Batman stopped his advance. "I admit you have good intentions, Catwoman, but theft is still theft. Why didn't you call the authorities when you witnessed the neglect and abuse?"

The look she gave him was pure scorn.

"Make a call to Gotham's authorities? Please. Might as well throw a coin in a wishing well. Face the facts, Batman. No one cares about these cats but me." Catwoman grimaced as that truth hit home.

Batman's interference meant that all these gorgeous cats would be rehomed right back into the neglectful circumstances they'd been stuck in - or scheduled for euthanasia by the city. It made her sick to her stomach.

Her adversaries continued their slow approach. Batman reached for his batcuffs. Catwoman let herself be backed up against a large packing box. She watched Robin carefully. He was the weak link. If he took two more steps away from the stairs, she'd have her exit. She made sure not to smile.

* * *

Batman read the panicked expression under Catwoman's mask and felt pity for her. The master cat burglar was on the side of the angels this time, in her own way. Nonetheless, a crime was a crime - and many of these cats had owners with legal rights to them. He didn't feel right about delivering the strays to Gotham's shelters, though. Catwoman had a point there - they'd simply be put to sleep if they couldn't be adopted. Too bad the development of Selina's sanctuary had been pushed back months. It would have been the perfect place for all these strays.

Batman couldn't keep the regret from his voice as he approached Catwoman. "Stand still. I'm going to cuff you and remove your weapon. I will escort you through the arrest process, to ensure it's done properly. Robin will supervise the recapture of the cats."

Catwoman laughed. "You don't have to worry about handsy officers with me, Batman. I can take care of myself."

Batman shook his head. "Not the point."

He reached forward, only to blink in surprise as Catwoman leap upward with agility to match Robin's. She landed on top of a tall wooden box, then sprang from its corner into a flip over their heads. The duo turned to give chase, but found hundreds of cat bodies interposed between them and Catwoman. She grinned, blew a kiss at the Caped Crusader, and dashed down the stairs.

"'Til the next time, Batman!" Her singsong echo floated up behind her, mocking them.

Robin took a step back as the cat nearest him bared its fangs and hissed. "Holy cats, Batman. How did she tell them to block us in?"

Batman sighed. "I don't think she had to, Robin. I have catnip in my utility belt. I thought I'd need it to make friends with Ruffy. Critical error on my part."

He stepped back as one of the circus lions approached and sniffed his hip.

"Can you just...scatter the rest of your catnip on the floor? We _cannot_ let the Commissioner see us in this predicament," Robin muttered, preoccupied by three or four housecats twining around his ankles.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Robin. I'm an expert in human psychology, not feline."

Robin closed his eyes and sighed at the thunderous sound of a dozen flat-foots on the stairs.

"Too late anyway, I suppose," he replied.

Commissioner Gordon was the first to burst into the upstairs warehouse.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Catwoman escaped - for now. I think you'll find we've recovered every missing cat, however. And here's Ruffy." Batman bent down and gently lifted the small cat.

The Commissioner's expression softened instantly.

"There's my boy! You did good work, Ruffy," he told his pet.

A cadre of animal handlers had come with the police. Commissioner Gordon turned to oversee the recapture of the hundreds of cats in the warehouse. At the first opportune moment, Batman and Robin slipped away.

"So are we off to catch this cat-obsessed cat burglar?" asked Robin.

Batman shook his head thoughtfully. "Not tonight. Thanks for answering the last-minute call, Robin. But I have some business to attend to - as Bruce Wayne."


	7. Chapter 7

Bruce couldn't keep back a smile as he changed out his wrinkled button-down for a fresh, crisp shirt from the wardrobe in his office. A glimmer of gray streaked the sky outside his high-rise office windows. The other tall buildings of Gotham's business district were softened shadows in the pre-dawn light. It was going to be a hazy day.

He saw the lamp in Debra's area flick on through the frosted glass that separated them and heard small bustling noises. He came out when she started the espresso maker whirring.

"Good morning, Debra," he intoned.

She startled, nearly dropping the cappuccino she'd just finished making. "Oh! Mr. Wayne! I didn't expect you here so early."

Bruce stifled a yawn with his fist. "Actually, I'm here late. Just pulled an all-nighter with Chuck Howson. Make a note to increase his Christmas bonus, by the way. He earned it."

"I will do that, but first I will make you the best macchiato you've ever had. You look like you need it," Debra replied.

Bruce didn't argue. He settled into one of the comfortable chairs lined up against the wall and waved an assenting hand toward the espresso maker.

"Your barista skills are legendary, Debra. Can't wait."

Minutes later, Debra delivered the macchiato to Bruce's impatient fingertips.

"So what has you smiling like the cat that got the canary?" she asked.

She settled in at her desk and shook her mouse, waking up her computer. Bruce took a sip of his macchiato, enjoying the bitter flavor.

"I think the board will finally be happy with me," he replied.

Debra raised a curious eyebrow. Her attentive eyes grew wider and wider as he filled her in on the details of a new plan for his problematic piece of property. At one point, she sat back in her cushy chair and brought a hand to her lips, sighing dramatically.

"You're right, the board is going to love this tax write-off. Ms. Kyle's going to love it even more, though. Not to mention the tabloids. I can already see the headlines."

Bruce frowned as his assistant batted her eyes in a very unprofessional manner.

"You know, the Christmas bonuses are completely at my discretion…" he warned.

Debra sat up very straight and finished her coffee with a final sip. "Back to work, then. What time would you like me to schedule the board meeting?"

* * *

Bruce deftly steamrolled his doubters at the meeting later that day and personally got in touch with his favorite contractor after a late lunch. It felt good to get his hands dirty - or as dirty as the head of a corporation was allowed to get. He didn't physically move any earth, but he used his ample funds to grease the gears of Gotham's great bureaucratic machine. Permit expediters (evidence of a broken system, if you asked him) were contacted, surveyors hired, inspectors engaged, and staff interviewed at a breakneck pace. It was all too slow for Bruce. He wanted everything completed _yesterday_.

In the meantime, he rented out a top-notch temperature-controlled warehouse for all the cats rounded up by Gotham PD. He made reasonable offers to any owners able to prove their legal right to possess one of the animals. The temporary quarters also required staff - he took recommendations for veterinarians and vet techs from the Gotham Cat and Habitat Conservation Society.

It only took two and a half months to complete work on Gotham's new Feline Conservation Research Facility and Sanctuary. A gala was held in honor of the grand opening, hosted by Bruce Wayne in his role as the CEO of Wayne Industries. Wayne Industries was proudly donating the facility to Gotham City. Reporters and paparazzi alike were out in force on the warm summer night. They crowded the edges of a plush red carpet that ran the length of the sidewalk from curb to frosted glass doors at the front of the Facility.

Bruce had asked Selina to escort him but she cheerfully declined, choosing instead to attend solo as the chairwoman of the Conservation Society. She rose gracefully from the back seat of a white limo, one long leg visible through a thigh-high slit in her sequined gown. Flashbulbs turned her into a shimmering apparition of beauty as she strode confidently into the Facility.

The broad welcome center held over a hundred of Gotham's philanthropic elite. Bruce kept busy making small talk and encouraging his guests to eat the expensive hors d'oeuvres he'd paid a small fortune for. A string quartet played quietly enough not to stifle conversation, but loudly enough to forestall any lulls.

Bruce ignored Dick's mocking smile from across the room. He couldn't help but keep one eye on the front doors - a fact his young ward had clearly picked up on. When Selina finally entered, Bruce felt a thrill shoot down his spine all the way to his toes. He extricated himself from some irrelevant small talk and charged up the shallow steps to meet her.

"Selina. You look stunning," he said with a smile and dropped a perfunctory kiss on the back of her hand.

She returned the smile and took her hand back. "You look great too, Bruce. You always do."

Bruce cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I know you got a preview of the facility back before it had drywall, but we'll have a real tour in about half an hour. The cats were moved in three days ago."

Selina nodded, only half listening.

"Where's your date?" she asked, arching one eyebrow and sweeping the room with her gaze.

"I didn't bring a date," Bruce replied, a playful grin on his lips. "The prettiest woman in town turned me down."

Selina blushed scarlet and a girlish giggle burst out. Bruce's smile turned genuine.

"So I'll come find you for that tour in a little while?" he pressed.

Selina nodded but before she could say anything, Commissioner Gordon approached with a cocktail in his hand.

"Great work, Mr. Wayne. The place looks amazing. And all by the book. I appreciate how difficult the intricacies of Gotham's municipal laws can be, but it's better than a safety violation," he opined, lifting his drink to emphasize the point.

"You're absolutely right," Bruce replied.

He turned back to Selina, but she was already halfway down the stairs, melting into the stylish crowd. Bruce gave a mental sigh, then smiled at the Commissioner. The Jim he worked with as the Batman was a real friend, but Commissioner Gordon was always quite a bit more formal and dull around Bruce Wayne. He let the older man take charge of the conversation, humming affirmatively as the Commissioner droned on about specific permits and the legitimacy of their place on Gotham's law books.

Fortunately, he had to excuse himself from the increasingly esoteric conversation when Debra (dimple on full display for the night) tugged his arm.

"Mr. Wayne, it's time for the tour. Are you going to lead it, or…?"

Bruce shook his head. "This is Chuck's time to shine. He's an accountant by trade, but he stepped up for this project. It's his baby as much as it is mine."

Debra smiled sunnily and went to find the bespectacled accountant. Bruce followed her more sedately, murmuring to this person or that in the crowd and attracting a group of interested party-goers in his wake. Last of all he found Selina chatting with a friend, her thin fingers wrapped around a champagne glass.

She smiled and took Bruce's proffered arm just as Chuck held up his hands for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's my honor to take you through the most advanced feline care and research facility now operating in this country." Chuck paused as applause broke through. "We'll start the tour right where the cats do - at the intake room. Please come this way."

Bruce and Selina let the crowd pass ahead of them. Bruce walked slowly, ensuring a bit of distance between them and the other partygoers.

"It's incredible, Bruce, it really is. As wonderful as anything I could have dreamed up." Selina's eyes shone as she stared around at the veterinarian facilities.

Bruce waited as the tour group turned a corner, then ducked through a side door, taking Selina with him.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see," he replied cryptically.

They walked down a short hallway to another door. Bruce pushed it open and guided Selina through. She gasped in delight when she saw the cats that filled a huge room, dimly lit at this time of night. Every cat in the room was a domestic stray - except for Mrs. Golightley's former show kitten and the cats from _Feline Boutique_. There were toys, loungers, and scratching posts scattered everywhere. Food bowls were inset along one wall. A complicated mechanism automatically dropped the same amount of food into each of 40 or more bowls at the same time. A flowing water fountain bubbled and chattered in one corner. Five or so of the cats lapped at it delicately.

Selina knelt down to pet several animals at once. They greeted her like an old friend, Bruce thought, smiling to himself.

"Do they look happy?" he asked.

Selina grinned up at him. "Happier than they were in the streets, that's for sure! These are all animals recovered by Batman and Gotham PD?"

"Yes," Bruce confirmed. "Everything worked out just right. The animals came in when I was trying to figure out what to do with this property. It all fell into place. The big cats have full enclosures, but these little guys are safer indoors."

He knelt down as well, ignoring the loose fur attaching itself to the knees of his tux. He scratched a few kitties behind the ears.

"Corporate charity and tax write-offs are all well and good, but...the truth is I made this place for you, Selina. You know that, right?" Bruce gazed at her through narrow lashes, almost afraid to meet her eyes.

Selina's head came up sharply and Bruce held his breath. He couldn't decipher her expression.

"I… what am I supposed to say to that, Bruce?" Her brow furrowed and she looked down at the purring cat in her hands.

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

Selina consciously relaxed the muscles of her face and smiled, but the expression stopped there. She leaned in, uncertain, then made her choice. A chaste but confident kiss was pressed to Bruce's lips. He closed his eyes, but it was over too soon. There was only empty air where her soft lips had been. He blinked his eyes back open, resisting the urge to pull Selina to him. She just looked at him enigmatically, then stood with an agility her dress and heels should have made impossible.

"Let's get back to the party," she suggested.

* * *

"You have friends in very high places," came a soft voice in the darkness.

Batman turned to see Catwoman land next to him in a crouch. Her whip coiled almost supernaturally back into her grasp as she yanked it loose from a neo-gothic stone gargoyle twenty feet above their heads. He regarded her steadily. They hadn't crossed paths since the night he found her warehouse, almost three months ago.

"You going to arrest me?" she asked, turning luminous eyes down to the bright lights of the city below.

"No," Batman replied.

"I saw Bruce Wayne's new cat sanctuary. I saw he bought all those neglected animals, even the expensive showcat. How did you talk him into it?" asked Catwoman.

She sat fully and drew her legs up to her chest, resting her head on her knees. She blinked up at him, for once with no agenda behind her eyes. It was strangely...vulnerable.

Batman cautiously seated himself beside her. The silence between them was companionable, something he didn't expect. He supposed either one of them could jump from the building ledge if they didn't like the conversation. He cleared his throat.

"Bruce Wayne has his reasons. Trust me, it isn't a loss for him." Batman leaned back against the stones behind him. He tried taking in the view for once, but he didn't enjoy it.

Catwoman gave a wry smile. "Okay, if that's all I get, I suppose I have to take it. I guess what I'm really trying to say is thank you."

Batman stared at her in surprise, though the expression was lost behind his mask. Catwoman somehow picked up on it. Her smile turned predatory.

"Oh, Bats. You didn't have to safeguard my babies, but you got Wayne to take them on anyway. Don't worry. I won't let anyone know you're a softie under that cowl. Cross my heart," she purred.

She reached over and traced his exposed jaw with her fingers. A shiver went down his spine. Batman caught her hand before it reached his chin.

"All I did was the right thing. The moral thing. I understand your reasons, even if I don't agree with your methods. Those animals were in pain before you took them." He released her hand and continued his survey of the city.

" _Stole_ them, you mean. Call a spade a spade. Morality without compassion is worthless. I see very little compassion in Gotham, so I have no use for morality," Catwoman shrugged.

"I can't agree," replied Batman.

"Morality has its own worth? Feels a bit hypocritical, coming from a vigilante who skirts the law," chided Catwoman.

"It's not exactly that," Batman said, bemused.

Her barbs stung a little, mostly because they echoed some of the questions he asked himself. They'd both witnessed, as had the Commissioner, how the cats were mistreated. And yet the law offered no support for removing them from the hands of their neglectful owners. Building a case for animal abuse would have taken a long time, if it were even possible. Better and faster for Bruce Wayne to simply buy the animals and make it right. Batman sighed.

"Batman! Are you hurt?" A rush of air and two light footsteps heralded Robin's arrival at the other end of the building's ledge.

Batman glanced at his ward, then back toward Catwoman, but she was gone without a whisper of sound. Robin looked him over suspiciously, seeing too much and too little at the same time.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked.

Batman came to his feet and pulled his grappling hook from his belt. He threw it forward with expert aim, letting the line play out and waiting until it wrapped securely around an ornamental cornice attached to the next building over.

"No one," he replied. They sailed off into the night.

The End.


End file.
